Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) (15 page)

“I suspected that was the case.”

He slid his plate aside as his pulse began to pound. He had to be honest. A future built on secrets was a future built on sand. Yet he also knew honesty could make her shutter her heart. But he wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth.

“I used to have a strong faith. Maybe the strongest of all the Taylor kids. Then, four years ago, I walked away from God. I tried to fill up the empty place in my soul with work and a very active social life and a few too many happy hours on Friday nights, but I’m beginning to realize I’ve been searching for consolation in all the wrong places. And I’m starting to think I need to reconnect with my faith. That nothing will fill that empty spot except a relationship with God.”

She broke off a piece of pumpkin bar with the edge of her fork but didn’t eat it. When she spoke, her question was cautious. Tentative. “Is there a particular reason you walked away?”

Oh yeah.

The image of Sara lying in a pool of blood, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling as the lights of emergency vehicles strobed through the night, flashed across his mind.

When the silence between them lengthened, Kelly spoke again. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Forcing himself to block out the image burned into his memory, he refocused on the woman across from him. She was clinging to her cup, her face taut.

“I want to.” Reaching over, he touched her cheek, the tender gesture meant to reassure. And it worked. She exhaled, and the tension in her features eased. “I’ve never told this story to anyone.”

Her eyes widened slightly. Rather than wait for her to ask the question he knew she was formulating, he answered it.

“Because you need to know exactly who you’re getting before we decide to take this relationship forward.”

He picked up his coffee and took a slow sip, buying himself a few seconds to collect his thoughts. And for the first time in years, he turned to God, asking for the courage to at last put into words the incident that had driven him away from the faith that had always sustained him.

“Four and a half years ago, a twenty-three-year-old woman was found unconscious in an apartment complex stairwell. The neighbor who called 911 told responding officers she suspected domestic violence, and had often heard disturbances in the adjoining apartment. I went to the hospital to talk with the woman, who was suffering from a concussion and multiple abrasions. Her name was Sara.”

The last word came out in a rasp. He stopped. Swallowed. He’d never spoken Sara’s name to anyone. As it reverberated in Kelly’s hushed dining room, the traumatic memories he’d ruthlessly suppressed morphed from past to present in a heartbeat. Clenching his hands into fists, he forced himself to keep breathing.

Kelly waited in silence until he was ready to continue.

“When I questioned her, she insisted she’d fallen down the steps. Denied she’d been abused.” His words were shakier now, but he kept going. “I didn’t buy it. I’d been a cop long enough to recognize the signs, and I told her that, straight up. But she didn’t budge from her story. So I resorted to scare tactics. Told her situations like hers didn’t get better. That her best and safest option was to walk away. She refused.” He raked his fingers through his hair and focused on his black coffee. “There’s not much we can do if people won’t press charges or take some initiative to change their situation.”

“I have a feeling you tried anyway.”

At Kelly’s gentle comment, he looked up. The warmth and empathy in her eyes tightened his throat.

“Yeah.” He took another sip of his cooling coffee. “I discovered early on in this job that you can’t save the world. Trying to do that will leave you with an ulcer or heart attack or chronic insomnia. So I’d learned to walk away from situations like Sara’s and commend them to God. But there was something about her . . .”

He paused, recalling the sweep of her long dark hair against the white sheet on the hospital gurney, the velvet brown of her irises, the graceful curve of her jaw. And how her beauty had been marred by puffy red swelling and a collage of purple and black bruises.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, blocking out that image. “She just seemed so scared and vulnerable. I left her my card, the name of a shelter, and a hotline number, as I always did in cases like that. But I also gave her my personal cell number and told her if she ever needed a friend, or someone to talk to, she could call me.”

“And she did.”

“Yes. About a month later. It was a weekend, and I was off duty. She was crying. She said her husband had gone out drinking and she needed to hear a friendly voice. So I talked to her. I’d done some homework after we met, and I knew the guy she’d married was an ex-con who’d served time for armed robbery. I also knew she was a product of the foster care system and that she’d disappeared from the official radar at the age of fifteen.

“To make a long story short, she ended up calling me periodically over the next six months. We met now and then for coffee, when her husband was passed out after a binge of drinking and it was safe. As time went by, I learned her whole story. How she grew up in a dysfunctional home and was put into the foster system, where she was abused by one of her foster fathers. That’s when she ran away. She was barely eking out a living when she met her Prince Charming. Things went downhill from there.”

“Why did she stay with him?”

“Fear. Like a lot of abused women, Sara was afraid if she left he’d come after her and kill her. Nor did she want to end up back on the street. So she stuck with him.” His tone flattened. “But in the end, he killed her anyway.”

“Oh, Cole!”

At Kelly’s exclamation of dismay, he sent her an apologetic look. “Sorry. This isn’t the best dinner conversation.”

“I asked. I wanted to know. I’m just so sad for her.”

“Me too. Because it was preventable—and because it was partly my fault.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

Confusion clouded her eyes. “How can that be? You tried to convince her to leave.”

He did his best to distance himself from the narrative. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to finish. “I also talked with Sara about my faith. That prompted her to start attending church. She found a congregation on her own, and ended up sharing her story with the minister. Unfortunately, he convinced her that marriage vows were forever and encouraged her to try and persuade her husband to seek counseling rather than leave him. He also convinced her that prayer would keep her safe.”

Cole clenched his fingers again, fighting to contain the wave of anger nipping at his self-control. “There were a few times I was tempted to go over to that church and have a heart-to-heart with the guy. Instead, I kept working on her from my end. Encouraging her to follow through on the GED program she’d started. Reminding her she had options. That she didn’t have to stay with him. That there were plenty of resources available to help her until she got on her feet. That the system could keep her safe. And I did a lot of praying myself. She deserved a better life. She was smart and funny and caring . . . and despite all the bad stuff that happened to her, she never let it beat her down. She always had hope that tomorrow would be better.”

He blinked to clear his vision, struggling to hold on to his composure. To finish this story—and perhaps put it to rest once and for all. “Anyway, she followed the minister’s advice and stuck with her husband. Then one morning someone from her apartment building called 911 to report a guy walking around in a bloodstained shirt. I burned rubber getting there, but it was too late. She died at the scene. After a night of drinking, he’d beaten her to death.”

Silence fell in the room, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock in Kelly’s kitchen. Cole picked up his cup. The liquid sloshed close to the edge, and he realized his hands were shaking. He wrapped his fingers around the cup and lifted it to his lips. Took a sip. The coffee had grown cold and bitter—much like his heart had after Sara’s death.

Carefully he set the cup back in its saucer and ventured a glance at Kelly. She’d lost a little color during the story, but at least it was almost over.

“I see a lot of carnage in my job.” His voice came out scratchy. Worn. Weary from the pain that had darkened his soul for four long years. “But that crime scene gave me nightmares for months. On bad days, it still does. The whole experience left me angry with God and disillusioned about prayer. How could a minister, a man of God, counsel a woman to put her life in danger in the name of religion? And why did prayer fail? From the first time I met Sara, I asked God to show me what to do. To tell me how to intervene. I waited for his direction, but none ever came. So I prayed every day that he would guide Sara, and save her. But in the end, he failed her. Her minister failed her. I failed her.”

Kelly leaned closer and covered his hand with hers. “I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

At her quiet comment, he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I agree her minister was misguided. I
don’t
agree that you failed her. You tried to help. But you couldn’t force her to leave her husband. All you could do was offer her reasons why she should. It was her decision to stay. As for God not answering your prayers—I think he did. Thanks to you, Sara found her way to him. And she was saved in the eternal sense. Maybe that’s the role God intended you to play all along. To be the instrument of her salvation.”

Cole stopped breathing as he mulled over that possibility. Had his prayers been answered after all—but in a different way than he’d hoped?

Pressure built behind his eyes, and he tried to blink it away. “That’s an angle I never considered.”

“Sometimes a third party can offer a more objective perspective.” She wrapped her fingers around her cup. “You cared about Sara a lot, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” He’d started this story determined to be honest, and he intended to stay the course. “Too much. It was the only time I ever let personal feelings get in the way of my job, and it was a big mistake, professionally and personally. We never did more than talk or meet for coffee, but she
was
married—and I was falling for her. Between guilt over that and worry about her safety, my life was a train wreck. Somehow I managed to hold it together at work, but Alison cued in to my mental state and started calling me almost every day. I sidestepped all her questions, but she never stopped calling. She never knew it, but she was my lifeline.”

“Kind of like you were for Sara.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“What happened to her husband?”

He gritted his teeth. “He’s back in prison. Where he belongs.”

“And you’ve been in a prison too. Of a different kind.”

At her soft comment, he frowned. Had he? It was true that his guilt and anger had isolated him in many ways. While that wasn’t his usual concept of prison, it did fit.

“You’re right. But you know what? I think I’m finally ready to deal with that.” He twined his fingers with hers and managed to summon up the hint of a smile. “Thank you for listening.”

She squeezed his hand, took a deep breath, and gestured to his coffee cup. “That has to be cold. How about a refill?”

“How about a rain check? I think we could both use some time alone to digest more than our food.” In truth, he’d prefer to hang around. Just being in Kelly’s presence lifted his spirits. But he’d dumped a boatload of heavy stuff on her. She had to be reeling.

“You might be right. Let me wrap those up for you.” She stood and picked up the plate with his pumpkin bars, her immediate acquiescence to his suggestion proof he’d read the situation correctly.

When she joined him in the foyer a couple of minutes later, he’d already opened the door. The porch light spilled in, picking out the bronze highlights in her russet-colored hair, and it took every ounce of his willpower to resist the impulse to pull her into his arms.

“I’ll call you, okay?” He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them out of trouble.

“Okay.” She moistened her lips, calling his attention to their soft fullness.

His mouth went dry. “I need to leave.” The words came out hoarse. And abrupt.

A flash of uncertainty ricocheted through her eyes, and she took a step back. “Okay.”

She’d misread his haste. He didn’t have a single regret about what had happened tonight, and she needed to know that.

Slowly, he removed one hand from his pocket and reached over to touch her lips with his index finger. She gave a soft gasp but didn’t pull away. “This is why I need to leave. If I stay, I’m going to kiss you, and we’re not ready for that yet.” That was a lie.
He
was more than ready. “I want to be smart about this—and try to stay in the slow lane. We’ll leave the kissing until after we wrap up your father’s case.” He managed a grin as he retracted his hand.

The longing that filled her eyes as she clung to the edge of the door set his pulse hammering. “I appreciate your restraint. And for the record . . . I hope we wrap it up really fast.” She handed him the pumpkin bars.

“So do I. Now lock up.” With one last touch of her cheek, he exited.

He waited until he heard the new dead bolt click into place before he continued to his car. Until all the questions about her father’s death were answered, he wanted her house locked up tight.

But he was glad she was
un
locking her heart. Letting him in. And he was glad he’d reciprocated.

As he climbed into his car and took one last look at the light spilling from her windows, he couldn’t help smiling. Based on what Mitch had said earlier, Alison would be calling him soon for a chat. As usual, he’d evade any personal questions.

If all went well, though, his sister would be getting an earful in the not-too-distant future.

The door on the side-entry garage of the suburban Buffalo ranch house opened, and from his parked position down the street Vincentio tightened his grip on the wheel of his car.

The time had come.

He watched as an older-model SUV slowed in front of the house, then pulled into the driveway and disappeared inside the garage. He’d have to reward his contact for supplying such accurate information. His son’s wife—Eileen—had arrived home from her teaching job, Jason in tow from day care, within minutes of the schedule the man had passed on. And his son wouldn’t be home from his job as a carpenter—Vincentio’s mouth curled in distaste at the shame of a Rossi doing blue-collar labor—for at least an hour.

That gave him plenty of time to take care of his business.

After exiting the car, he retrieved the cane he rarely used, then tucked the teddy bear under his arm and walked toward the modest Lancaster house. He drove by it now and then, when loneliness overwhelmed him. On one occasion his son had been cutting the grass. Vincentio was glad he’d worn sunglasses that day, though Marco had given his car no more than a passing glance as his father had driven by, gripping the wheel with sweaty palms.

They were sweaty today too, despite the biting chill in the November air.

Vincentio Rossi with sweaty palms. He shook his head. What a difference from the old days, when he’d had nerves of steel. When he’d have laughed at the notion that a baby could produce such anxiety.

Funny how a man’s priorities could change.

He paused at the bottom of the steps that led to the front door. The house was well maintained. Paint crisp, porch swept, no rotting wood. But it was small. Plain. Ordinary. And so much less than Marco could have had. A gracious two story in Amherst—or maybe Orchard Park—could have been his for the asking. Vincentio had plenty of money stashed in his offshore account, thanks to regular deposits during his working years. He’d intended most of those funds to be a legacy for his son.

But Marco wanted none of it. Dirty money, he’d called it, when Vincentio had phoned him soon after his release from prison—the one and only time they’d talked in thirty-one years.

The time Marco had said never to contact him again.

His son’s rejection had been more painful than the stab wound he’d received decades ago from a disgruntled—and soon-to-be-deceased—colleague. But it hadn’t come as a great surprise, given their long estrangement. So, after a few more futile attempts to connect, he’d accepted his son’s decision.

A grandson, however, changed things.

A grandson deserved to know his nonno.

Hand on the railing, Vincentio climbed the six steps to the front porch, huffing too much. He should cut back on his visits to Romano’s. Reduce his carbs and cholesterol. But how could he give up one of his few remaining pleasures?

Unless he had visits with a grandson to look forward to.

And maybe, God willing, he would after today.

He repositioned the teddy bear under his arm, leaned forward, and pressed the doorbell.

Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty.

Was Eileen peeking through a window? Had Marco instructed the wife Vincentio had never met to ignore any contact from him?

Just when he thought his trip had been wasted, the door opened.

The young woman with strawberry blonde hair who stood on the other side was lovely. None of the photos provided by his contacts had done her justice. But it was the infant in her arms who caught—and held—his attention. Even at such a young age, his jet-black hair and dark eyes branded him a Rossi. A rush of pride warmed Vincentio’s heart. Marco might try to deny his son his heritage, but he couldn’t deprive him of the Rossi looks.

Suddenly Eileen eased back, and he lifted his gaze. She was staring at the teddy bear tucked under his arm, her expression wary.

“Hello, Eileen.” He tried for a smile, but his stiff lips wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m Marco—Mark’s—father.”

“I know.” The words, a mere whisper, held a tremor of fear. “I’ve seen your picture.” She eased the door a few more inches toward the closed position.

Anger bubbled up inside Vincentio. What sort of monster had Marco painted him to be, that she would be so frightened?

With supreme effort, he subdued his fury and managed to produce a smile. “I don’t know what Mark has told you, Eileen, but you have nothing to fear from me. Do I look dangerous?”

He knew he didn’t. He shaved in front of the bathroom mirror every day. Saw the creases in his face, the thinning gray hair, the rheumy eyes behind the thick glasses. He was just a portly old man. The grandfatherly type.

To illustrate that point, he pulled the teddy bear from under his arm. “This was in the package you and Mark sent back. I know he wants nothing to do with me, and I’ve learned to accept that, though the pain of it never goes away. I only ask that you let an old man have a chance to know his grandson.”

He leaned on the cane, using it to full effect. “I’m seventy-four, Eileen. I have health problems. I doubt I have a lot of years left. But I’d like to spend some of them with that little guy.” He nodded toward the baby in her arms and extended the teddy bear. “Won’t you please at least take this small gift? And think about what I’m asking? I’ll accept whatever terms you and Mark set, as long as I can spend some time with Jason.”

Seconds ticked by as she appraised him. A car honked on the street behind him. A dog barked in the distance. The rumble of an airplane reverberated in the sky above. From somewhere, the smell of frying hamburgers wafted toward him, the aroma of onions mingling with the smell of baby powder.

He watched her the way he used to watch his adversaries, face placid, alert to every nuance of her demeanor. And he knew the instant she wavered. Her features softened infinitesimally. Her grip on the door loosened enough to let the blood flow back into her knuckles. Her eyes went from fearful to uncertain.

He’d won. With Eileen, anyway.

Summoning up his next smile was easy as he bent and set the teddy bear beside the door. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I leave this here and let you think about my request? I tucked my cell phone number into his pocket.” He gestured toward the red jacket the teddy bear wore. “If you can find it in your heart to arrange a way for me to get to know my grandson, call anytime. Day or night.”

With a polite dip of his head, he turned. Grasping the railing, he descended the steps and walked back to his car, leaning heavily on the cane. He didn’t look back until he slipped behind the wheel and closed the door.

Through the tinted windows, he saw that she was still watching him. He fitted the key into the ignition. Started the car. Pulled away from the curb. But he kept one eye on the rearview mirror.

And just before he lost sight of the house, he saw Eileen bend down, pick up the teddy bear, and close the door.

Yes!

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel and grinned. No deal, no power play, no coup against his fiercest rival had ever given him such a rush of exhilaration.

Today, he’d moved a needle that had long been stuck.

Marco might not be in his corner, but he’d found an ally in Eileen—and wives had a lot of influence with their husbands. Whenever Isabella had taken him to task for some transgression, he’d always relented. Perhaps Eileen had the same power with his son.

And if she did, maybe he’d get to play nonno after all.

“Kelly, you are a lifesaver!”

“Don’t be silly.” She waved aside Lauren’s comment. “I was happy to pick them up, and we had a blast. Didn’t we, guys?”

Five-year-old Kevin looked up from her kitchen table, where the twins had been creating masterpieces for the past hour with some of her leftover watercolors.

“Yeah! We had cookies too, Mom!” He aimed his brush at a plate in the middle of the table, empty save for a few crumbs.

“Chocolate chip,” Jack added without losing focus on the winged purple creature he was painting.

“I hope that was okay.” Kelly wiped some drips of paint off the table. “They said they were hungry.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “They’re
always
hungry. Come on, guys, wrap it up. We need to get moving.”

“Oh, Mom, I’m almost done!” Kevin sent her a pleading look.

“Me too,” Jack piped up.

“Okay. Five minutes. That’s it.” Lauren dumped her purse on the counter and sighed. “What a day.”

“So what happened with the plea bargain that delayed you?”

“It threw a monkey wrench in our strategy. But hey . . . tomorrow’s another day. Did they give you any trouble at day care? I called to let them know you were coming.”

“Not a bit. I’m glad you thought to authorize me for pickup way back when, just in case.”

“I’m glad you agreed. With Shaun out of town and my mom and dad on a cruise . . .”

“It was no problem. Honest.”

“You’re just being nice. I know this was a big distraction from your work.”

“I was distracted anyway.”

“Yeah? How come?”

Kelly motioned Lauren to follow her to the living room, and her friend fell in behind her. “Cole came for dinner last night.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Both. And I’ve got lots to tell you. You won’t believe all that’s happened in the past three days. I’ve tried to call a couple of times but you’ve been tied up.”

“You have my full attention now.” She perched on the arm of the couch. “Spill.”

As Kelly updated her on the investigation—including the WitSec and Mafia developments—Lauren’s mouth dropped open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I had the same reaction. But it all fits. Cole is going up to Buffalo next week to talk to Rossi.”

Lauren’s expression grew skeptical. “A mob boss isn’t going to admit anything, and all the evidence tying him to your father’s death is circumstantial. Don’t get your hopes up. Guys in his league know how to cover their tracks.”

“If he was that adept at covering his tracks, he wouldn’t have gone to prison.”

Her friend conceded the point with a shrug. “Well, it can’t hurt for your friend to pay him a visit.” Lauren leaned closer. “I’m assuming Cole
is
a friend by now. Maybe more?”

“Not yet.”

“‘Not yet’ as in things could progress in the future?”

“I would say that’s a strong possibility.”

“Now that’s the kind of news I like to hear.” Lauren grinned. “Tell me all.”

“Let’s just say I’m optimistic. But he told me a lot of things last night about his . . . social history . . . and his faith journey that I need to think through. You were right. He did drive in a faster lane.”

“Past tense?”

“He says he’s willing to downshift.”

Lauren narrowed her eyes. “Do you think he’s serious?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Kelly slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I trust him, Lauren.”

“That’s high praise coming from the woman whose middle name is caution.”

“Hey, Mom, we’re ready!” Kevin zoomed into the room, Jack on his heels, both clutching their works of art.

“Glad to hear it. I’m getting hungry. How does pizza sound tonight?”

“Yeah!” The twins spoke in unison.

“Okay. Get your coats and we’ll hit the road.”

Two minutes later, as Lauren hustled them out the door, she turned to Kelly. “I’ll call you later. I’m still digesting everything you told me and I know I’ll come up with a dozen more questions between here and the house. Unless you’re having company again?”

“Not tonight. But Cole said he’d let me know how his phone call with Rossi went.”

“In that case, you call
me
after you talk to him. I wouldn’t want to tie up your phone line if he’s trying to get through.” She stepped onto the porch, watched the twins scramble into the minivan, then focused on Kelly again. “Because if your take on this guy is accurate, he could be a keeper.”

Lauren didn’t wait for a response. Raised voices in the van drew her attention, and with a flutter of fingers, she took off at a jog, yelling at the boys to cool it.

But long after her friend had negotiated a cease-fire and driven away, her parting words about Cole being a keeper lingered in Kelly’s mind.

And based on everything she’d seen so far, Kelly could only agree.